Dressing Room Mirrors
Dressing room mirrors make me cry.
It's where I can't hide from prying eye and I must face the fact that the frame isn't admirable to anyone but the kind ones.
Dressing room mirrors make me mad. It's where I can't hide from thoughts of someday being a perfect being. Maybe one day I can look like elegant black lace draped on a slender string frame.
Dressing room mirrors make me imagine suicide. A self cleanse. A nip and tuck. Dressing room mirrors and dim light made to make you not notice your own ugly imperfections...
Hear that?
Hear me spit at you?
Hear me spit and sob from the inside of this prison. Dressing room mirrors make me maniacal. Because I feel what I want is just out of stock, so close yet unattainable. These feelings aren't sustainable for me anymore.
YOU ARE READING
The Aggravated Mind
PoesíaEmbracing a new pattern or rhythm of life. Taking on new ways of thinking and washing away the old. A sweet love of verse and song. My heart will go on. *Author's note* Note will be random insight to the poems of this book.
